First Fortnight
by bemj11
Summary: A personal account of one Stanley Hopkins of his first two weeks as an Inspector of Scotland Yard.
1. Chapter 1

**From the writings of Stanley Hopkins, an Inspector at Scotland Yard, concerning the first two weeks after his promotion:**

I've been promoted! That's right; I've finally made it to Inspector. Inspector Stanley Hopkins, to be precise. I hope I'm up to it.

I'm supposed to report to the Superintendent first thing in the morning, and he's going to pair me with another Inspector, to 'learn the ropes,' as they say.

I'm nervous, and excited, and even just as little proud. Nothing wrong with that, though. After all, I have managed to make it this far. So long as I don't let my head get _too_ big, right?

I am a little worried, though. The Inspectors at Scotland Yard are said to be a tough bunch to work with. I wouldn't know; I've somehow managed to avoid the lot of them (tip number one for any new Constable, try to stay clear of the Inspectors). I've seen them around, sure, but I'm not sure any of them would even know who I am.

I _did_ talk to one of them, once. Or rather, he talked to me. That is, to be honest, what actually happened was Inspector Gregson called me an idiot for telling a rather tall, thin figure and his doctor companion that yes, the Inspector was in his office.

Anyway, I suppose I should hope I'm not paired up with him. I wonder, though, if he'd actually remember me. Maybe not. I was, after all, just a lowly Constable at the time, and still pretty new on the job.

Well, the morning will certainly tell.

**Day One**

The meeting with the Superintendent went well, I think.

I mostly just stood there in front of the man's desk while he congratulated me on my promotion and told me what a huge responsibility being an Inspector was and how important it was and how it was not to be taken lightly and so on, and then he informed me that I was supposed to be paired with Inspector Lestrade, but that he had been unexpectedly called out. I was told I could wait for the Inspector in his office.

I had heard about Inspector Lestrade's office. It was allegedly the neatest, cleanest office in the Yard, even cleaner than the Superintendent's. Now that I've seen it for myself, I believe it.

The Inspector had a desk, two chairs (one for him and one for a visitor), a filing cabinet, maps on one wall, and a note-board on the other. No personal effects, and everything neat and in its proper place. Even the stack of papers on his desk was neat and organized.

I settled myself in the visitors' chair and waited for the Inspector to return.

An hour and a half later, I started getting restless. And a little bit worried. I shifted in my chair, but remained seated, even though it was starting to get uncomfortable. One thing you don't do is go snooping around the office of the man you're going to be spending the next two weeks with; especially when said person is an Inspector of Scotland Yard.

Eventually the man showed up.

At least, I had to assume it was Inspector Lestrade. I couldn't think of anyone else who would walk calmly into the Inspector's office, carefully close the door behind him, and then proceed to slump against said door, close his eyes, run a hand through dark hair, and let out an exasperated sigh.

I took a few seconds to study the Inspector, never really having seen him up close before, while he remained slumped against the wall.

He was small for someone who worked in Scotland Yard. There was, after all, a height requirement, and I wasn't entirely certain that the Inspector would pass. I couldn't really pinpoint his age, but he had to be older than me. He was smartly dressed, or had been before he had been called out for whatever purpose. Now he was a bit rumpled. Descriptions from the Strand found their way into my mind, but while there was a leanness about him, but the descriptions had been largely exaggerated.

I coughed, quietly, to let him know I was there, and his eyes flew open. He straightened up in an instant, and dark eyes studied me intently.

"Hopkins, is it?" He finally asked. I nodded. He straightened his tie as he headed for his desk. "That's right, you're the new Inspector. Have you been waiting long?"

I started to shake my head, and he raised an eyebrow at me from across his desk. "About two hours, sir." I admitted.

The Inspector grimaced. "Sorry about that. Got called out, and to be honest, I'd forgotten you were starting today."

It was not immensely reassuring to realize I had been so easily forgotten. Nor was watching him do paperwork while he proceeded to simultaneously deliver a lecture that apparently consisted of everything he thought I needed to know, from "Don't ever go anywhere without back-up, even if it means you're stuck standing outside knee-deep in snow for three hours straight" to "Don't drink on the job, but if you ever end up in the river, and rest assured you will before the year's out, the scent of garlic and cloves will cover up just about anything."

We didn't go out that day. Didn't leave his office. I tried not to feel let down; I'm sure there was a reason the day was divided between lecturing and paperwork.

And, of course, I suppose my first day as an Inspector could have gone much, much worse.

I was glad, though, to finally be heading home, even if my head was spinning from all the advice he had thrown at me during the day.

At least he hadn't laughed when I pulled out my notebook and started taking things down. The way he said everything, as if my life might depend on it someday, made me worry that I might forget something.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and the boys at Scotland Yard do not belong to me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Day Two**

I thought I was through walking the beat, but that's what we did today. We walked. And walked. And walked. Rumors that Inspector Lestrade relies heavily on footwork are vastly understated. We walked for _hours_.

The Inspector talked to a number of people (after warning me to keep my mouth shut and just listen), prevented three pickpockets from making off with the contents of several pockets and purses, and actually rescued the proverbial kitten from a tree (though in reality I was the one who was given the undignified task of clambering up a tree, getting scratched by an ungrateful kitten, and then had to endure the thanks of a half-senile elderly woman).

And he continued to lecture as we walked. It is really hard to take notes, watch where you're going, and keep up with the Inspector at the same time.

My feet are killing me tonight.

I don't know about this Inspector business. All we've done so far is paperwork and a lot of walking.

Maybe tomorrow will be better, or at least more interesting.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys and Scotland Yard do not belong to me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Day Three**

More interesting.

I suppose the day started out that way, though the excitement didn't last.

I met Bradstreet today, as we were heading outside for what I guessed would be another day of trudging about.

"Heads up!" Someone shouted as we reached the front door. The Inspector turned back around, shoved me out of the way, and braced himself.

The man in handcuffs stopped just short of crashing into the Inspector and swore.

Inspector Lestrade's eyebrows went up. "Your luck finally desert you, Davies?" He asked mockingly.

This Davies fellow threw a punch at the Inspector. It never reached its target. Inspector Lestrade blocked the blow and retaliated with a kick to the other man's stomach. Davies doubled over and the Inspector grabbed him by the collar and proceeded to half drag him across the room where another Inspector stood waiting.

"Thanks." He said brightly. "Davies here head butted one of the Constables, I think he broke Adam's nose, and made a break for it."

"And you saw me in the doorway and figured you'd let me take care of it." Inspector Lestrade suggested.

The other grinned and shrugged. "I do enjoy watching you work." He admitted. Then he caught sight of me. "This the rookie?" He asked.

I tried not to frown at the title. The other Inspector noticed anyway, and laughed. "Don't take it personally. I was the last one. But two weeks with Lestrade and no one will so much as think the word rookie around you." The man was friendly, at least.

"This is Roger Bradstreet." Inspector Lestrade gave the introductions. "Stanley Hopkins."

"Nice to meet you, lad." Bradstreet nodded, then turned his attention back to Davies. "Love to stay and chat, but I've got some business to attend to. By the way," Bradstreet added before he ambled off with his prisoner, "Gregson's not to happy about a couple of the cases he's had to take on while you're breaking in the rookie." He warned.

Inspector Lestrade nodded briskly. "I'll keep that in mind." He commented as Bradstreet took off with his man and we headed back towards the front door.

I wondered if my promotion were causing problems between Inspector Lestrade and Inspector Gregson. I asked, and the Inspector stopped short and turned to look at me. He shook his head, after a moment, and I was startled to realize he was trying not to laugh.

"No." He finally replied. "No. Anytime I'm paired with someone new, Gregson takes over any of the more dangerous cases I happen to be working on for a few days."

"Oh." I said. I didn't really know what else to say to that, especially what with the implication that the Inspector didn't feel I was ready for action yet.

We spent the rest of the day hanging out in some disreputable looking tavern, where the Inspector again warned me to keep my mouth shut and sat around talking to people as they came and went.

At least there wasn't as much walking involved this time

**Day Three**

More interesting.

I suppose the day started out that way, though the excitement didn't last.

I met Bradstreet today, as we were heading outside for what I guessed would be another day of trudging about.

"Heads up!" Someone shouted as we reached the front door. The Inspector turned back around, shoved me out of the way, and braced himself.

The man in handcuffs stopped just short of crashing into the Inspector and swore.

Inspector Lestrade's eyebrows went up. "Your luck finally desert you, Davies?" He asked mockingly.

This Davies fellow threw a punch at the Inspector. It never reached its target. Inspector Lestrade blocked the blow and retaliated with a kick to the other man's stomach. Davies doubled over and the Inspector grabbed him by the collar and proceeded to half drag him across the room where another Inspector stood waiting.

"Thanks." He said brightly. "Davies here head butted one of the Constables, I think he broke Adam's nose, and made a break for it."

"And you saw me in the doorway and figured you'd let me take care of it." Inspector Lestrade suggested.

The other grinned and shrugged. "I do enjoy watching you work." He admitted. Then he caught sight of me. "This the rookie?" He asked.

I tried not to frown at the title. The other Inspector noticed anyway, and laughed. "Don't take it personally. I was the last one. But two weeks with Lestrade and no one will so much as think the word rookie around you." The man was friendly, at least.

"This is Roger Bradstreet." Inspector Lestrade gave the introductions. "Stanley Hopkins."

"Nice to meet you, lad." Bradstreet nodded, then turned his attention back to Davies. "Love to stay and chat, but I've got some business to attend to. By the way," Bradstreet added before he ambled off with his prisoner, "Gregson's not to happy about a couple of the cases he's had to take on while you're breaking in the rookie." He warned.

Inspector Lestrade nodded briskly. "I'll keep that in mind." He commented as Bradstreet took off with his man and we headed back towards the front door.

I wondered if my promotion were causing problems between Inspector Lestrade and Inspector Gregson. I asked, and the Inspector stopped short and turned to look at me. He shook his head, after a moment, and I was startled to realize he was trying not to laugh.

"No." He finally replied. "No. Anytime I'm paired with someone new, Gregson takes over any of the more dangerous cases I happen to be working on for a few days."

"Oh." I said. I didn't really know what else to say to that, especially what with the implication that the Inspector didn't feel I was ready for action yet.

We spent the rest of the day hanging about in some disreputable looking tavern, where the Inspector again warned me to keep my mouth shut and sat around talking to people as they came and went.

At least there wasn't as much walking involved this time.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys at the Yard do not belong to me.


	4. Chapter 4

**Day Four**

I will _never_ complain about things not being interesting enough again.

It started with the two of us walking into a second hand bookstore. It ended (sort of) with me being fished out of the Thames.

At any rate, this morning I followed the Inspector into a bookstore. I had by now caught on that my job was mainly to stand nearby with my mouth closed, so I didn't bother asking why the Inspector suddenly seemed interested in browsing the dusty shelves of a nearly deserted bookstore.

I looked around where I was standing, but found nothing remotely of interest. I noted how the shopkeeper seemed to be ignoring both the Inspector and myself as if his life depended on it. I counted maybe three people in the shop, other than Inspector Lestrade and myself.

Suddenly Inspector Lestrade had an arm around my shoulders in what was a very familiar gesture and was pointing out something on one of the pages in the book he was holding.

"_Walk_ out the front door." He muttered in my ear. "Once you get outside, _run_ for the nearest Constable and send him back here. Then head for Scotland Yard. Find Gregson, tell him 'Lestrade found them,' and come back with him."

I didn't know what was going on, but as soon as the Inspector let me go I was headed for the door, trying not to look too nervous or move too fast.

I made it through the door and took off at a run for the Constable just turning the corner. I told him to go to the bookstore, and was somewhat surprised when he responded with a "Yes, sir!" and took off without the slightest hesitation. However, I didn't have time to think about it as I headed back toward the Yard.

I found Gregson's office, and with it the Inspector himself, and delivered Inspector Lestrade's message, word for word.

"Lestrade found them." The way the Inspector had said those three words I didn't doubt it was important to use them specifically.

Inspector Gregson sprang into action upon hearing them, and ordered me to "Stay here," after asking where Lestrade was, as he darted out into the hall and began rounding up several Constables.

Here was a problem. Inspector Lestrade had said to come back, but Inspector Gregson had just told me to stay behind. Well, one of the four hundred and some odd things that Inspector Lestrade had thrown at me during my first two days was that when on a case you reported to your partner first and everyone else second, and if you ended up in trouble for it later, you took it like a man.

I followed Inspector Gregson.

The bookstore was a wreck by the time we got there, and the front window had been knocked out.

The Inspector was apparently buried under a bookshelf and a large number of books. It was fortunate for him that most of the books had fallen off the shelf as it tipped; a shelf that size filled with books is a dangerous thing to have fall on you (Books are heavy. I would know, I had just that sort of thing happen to me when I was younger. I wouldn't set foot in a bookstore or library for years, even after my broken leg had healed).

Anyway, the Constables were soon trying to dig the Inspector out, and Inspector Gregson was standing in front of the broken window looking irritated, and I was looking around, trying to figure out what I was supposed to be doing now.

A glint caught my eye; someone in the alley across the street was aiming a pistol straight at Inspector Gregson!

I shoved him out of the way, and nearly knocked a pile of books on top of us as well. Then I tried to figure out why no shot had been fired while Inspector Gregson proceeded to accuse me of clumsiness and incompetence and a disregard for orders. Eventually he shoved me towards the door and told me to wait outside.

I went, my eyes peeled for trouble. The would-be shooter was still in the alley! He caught my eye, waved, and bolted.

_Never go after anyone alone_. The warning flashed through my mind, and I shouted over my shoulders at two of the Constables left to watch the street to "Come on!" Again, I was a bit surprised when they followed without batting an eye.

We chased the man through the alleys and down the streets, until finally I turned a corner and he was waiting for me.

If I had ducked a second later that bullet would have gone right through my head, and I wouldn't be writing this now. As it was, he missed, and swore, and tossed the gun aside.

_That must have been his last bullet_ was the thought that occurred to me as he drew a knife and lunged towards me.

He caught me in the arm, and grabbed me as I was distracted by the fact that I was bleeding. Knife to my throat, he edged away from the two Constables who had by now caught up with us. I had outrun them, it seemed, unfortunately for me.

I realized we run as far as the docks as he moved us our over the water. I had covered some distance, chasing this man.

To be honest, I thought about begging for my life right there. I thought about pointing out that I had no idea who the man even was, and that I could have easily been mistaken when I had thought he had a gun and was aiming for Inspector Gregson.

The thought didn't sit well with me, so I promptly discarded it. That left me with one alternative.

"You're under arrest." I informed him. "For the attempted murder of an Inspector of Scotland Yard, if nothing else."

_That_ caught him off guard. He started laughing. His grip loosened.

Inspector Lestrade had also, during my first two days, coolly informed me that in a fight where lives were at stake, and in our line of work, most times lives _were_, fighting fair was not something he considered commendable. It had made sense, at the time, and made even more now.

So I took the opportunity this fellow had just given me and slammed the back of my head into his face, and my elbow into his gut. He cursed and let go, and I stumbled and lost my balance.

Of course I would be standing too close to the edge of the pier. Of course I would fall in.

The man I had been chasing was promptly forgotten as I spluttered and splashed and tried to make my way back to dry land.

I managed, somehow, and someone seized me by my shirt and dragged me upright as I staggered onto the bank. I was still coughing and spluttering, and half expecting it to be the man that I had been chasing that had grabbed me and was consequently preparing for a fight.

"Easy, lad." It was Inspector Lestrade, looking rather worse for the wear after his episode in the bookstore. Having a shelf load of books fall on you may _sound_ funny, but it actually has considrable potential for injury.

He pointed; the two Constables who had followed me had apparently taken initiative and had seized the man we had been chasing after I had fallen.

Inspector Gregson joined us then, and promptly began grumbling about me going after the leader of a gang of bank robbers by myself. When I reasonably pointed out that I hadn't gone alone, and had taken two Constables with me, it only seemed to annoy him farther.

He stopped when I stumbled and nearly took Inspector Lestrade down with me, and insisted that he could finish things up here.

Inspector Lestrade agreed, albeit somewhat reluctantly, and dragged me (I say dragged because by this point I was feeling somewhat unsteady from loss of blood where my arm had bee sliced open) home by way of a cab. It never even occurred to me to wonder how he knew where I lived. Maybe that's just part of the job.

He settled me on the couch in my sitting room and disappeared long enough (I found out later) to send someone for a doctor to see to my arm. Then he stirred up a fire in my sitting room before he disappeared into my kitchen and came back a bit later with a hot cup of tea. The tea was good; I found I didn't even mind the thought of the Inspector going through my kitchen.

The doctor showed up, and cleaned and sewed up my arm, and is almost certain it's going to end up infected. I'll probably end up sick from being in the river anyway, but now I'm writing this up while I wait for the doctor to finish trying to convince the Inspector to let him look _him_ over as well. Inspector Lestrade insists that he is fine, just bruised, but their arguing is keeping me from passing out properly.

Oh, finally. They're leaving.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys at the Yard do not belong to me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Day Five**

Inspector Lestrade thinks I'm an idiot.

His greet as I staggered wearily into his office this morning was, and I quote, "What the devil are you doing here, Hopkins? You're no use to anyone showing up delirious and half-dead!"

I didn't even get a chance to protest that I was neither delusional nor half-dead, because he promptly made me drink a cup of the nastiest stuff I've ever tasted, then escorted me back home and said he have me demoted if I showed my face down at the Yard again before I was well.

Maybe he was right, though, because now I'm feeling worse than I did this morning, and I'm cold as well. My arm is killing me, too.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.


	6. Chapter 6

**Day Seven**

I suppose it was fortunate for me that the doctor decided to stop by Friday. I was completely out of my head when he showed up. That was what, two days ago?

My sister is here now, the doctor must have asked and I must have said something about her, because someone most certainly sent for her, and now she says I'm not allowed out of bed until tomorrow.

Feeling better, though very tired. Don't know about how this is going to go over at the Yard, though.

Should probably stop now, the words are starting to blur together on the page.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.


	7. Chapter 7

**Day Eight**

Back on my feet today, and back on the job. Mostly paperwork again, mostly concerning the bookstore incident. I had my own papers to fill out this time.

Inspector Lestrade didn't say two words to me all day, other than to tell me what we were doing. He didn't even bother with any more lectures, and frankly I wasn't sure whether to be relieved by that or worried.

I passed Inspector Gregson in the hall. He still seemed irritated with me.

It was a long, tense day, and my head was pounding before it was over.

I was very glad to be going home; the day had been a rather disappointing one. I was also glad my sister had not gone home yet; she had dinner ready when I got in from work.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.


	8. Chapter 8

**Day Nine**

I was almost certain I was going to be doomed to another day of paperwork when Inspector Bradstreet peeked in and asked if he could 'borrow the rookie.'

"Sure." Inspector Lestrade replied without looking up. "Don't get him killed."

I felt my eyes widen at that, but Bradstreet only chuckled and answered him with, "I'll try not to damage him any farther." before heading back out the door.

"Go on." Inspector Lestrade told me, and I was out the door and following Bradstreet.

"Lestrade says you're good at taking notes." Bradstreet commented. I gulped, and shrugged. Bradstreet ignored my reaction. "I need to question some people about a murder, and I need someone along who can keep an accurate account."

"I can do that." I said.

"Good." Bradstreet nodded. "Nice bit with that gang leader, by the way." He added, actually approving. "How's your arm?"

"Better." I told him. "Inspector Gregson's not too happy about it, though."

He knew I didn't mean my arm. "Nah, Gregson's just annoyed because since you apprehended the man, and you're partnered with Lestrade, then the two of you get the credit for catching the lead man in his case." He said this easily, as if I shouldn't worry.

I worried anyway. "So he thinks we stole the credit for solving his case?" I asked.

Bradstreet shook his head. "Not exactly. See, that was one of Lestrade's cases, but when you came along it was passed on to Gregson."

"Oh." That really didn't clear much of anything up.

Bradstreet sighed. "Okay, look. What happens when Lestrade gets paired with a rookie, whether it's an Inspector or a Constable, is this. His cases, at least the serious ones, go to Gregson. Officially. Lestrade usually will keep an eye on them anyway, and if he finds anything he'll send the rookie for Gregson and go for the kill while the rookie's out of harm's way. Then Gregson will show up, and either finish what Lestrade started or help clean up after him, and one of them will get the credit for the case. Are you with me so far?"

I thought I was. I nodded.

"Okay, well, when Lestrade got buried under a pile of books yesterday that meant Gregson still had a chance to solve the case before Lestrade did, and then you had to go and catch the gang leader yourself, and since you're paired with Lestrade, that means the two of you get the credit and Gregson doesn't. So Gregson's irritated, but don't worry. Lestrade will do something else to annoy him, and he'll forget he's upset with you."

Oh." I said. "So Gregson and Lestrade have a bit of a rivalry going on, then?" I asked. Bradstreet snorted.

"A _bit._" He agreed, in a tone that suggested there was more to it than just _a bit_. "Don't get between those two when they're going at it."

"Inspector Lestrade didn't seem too pleased with me either." I confessed. "At any rate, he's not talking to me anymore."

"No, that's just Lestrade." Bradstreet informed me. "If you do something wrong, he'll let you know. He's just gotten through his list of important information any rookie should know. Come on."

I spent the rest of the day recording the details of the people Bradstreet questioned. It was interesting, I suppose, but my hand was cramped from all that writing before we were done. It's starting to ache again now, which suggests that perhaps I am done writing for the night.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.


	9. Chapter 9

**Day Ten**

I don't really know how to start this, with all that's happened today. I suppose I'll just have to start at the beginning and work my way through as best I can.

I took notes for Bradstreet again this morning. During the afternoon, Lestrade and I went out walking again.

I tripped up a man who would have taken off with a lady's purse, and the Inspector actually rescued someone's child from getting run over when the child ran out into the street. The driver was furious, and came down off the carriage like lightning, his face all red and his eyes flashing.

I figured he didn't realize he was getting ready to get himself in trouble with an Inspector from Scotland Yard, so I took pity on the man. I didn't really want any trouble anyway.

I reached Inspector Lestrade about the same time the driver did. "All right there, Inspector?" I asked brightly, before the driver could get a word out.

I swear I thought the man was going to choke. His mouth snapped shut and his eyes went wide. He swallowed, and you would have thought he was swallowing something rotten by the look on his face.

Inspector Lestrade nodded, seemingly oblivious to the driver's predicament. "I'm fine, Hopkins." He turned to eye the driver. "A little more caution might be in order, sir."

The driver nodded, and retreated back to his carriage as quickly as he could.

The Inspector eyed the small child in his arms. "And you." He said sternly. The little girl stared up at him with wide eyes. "Surely your mother's told you to stay close and stay out of the street. If you're old enough to walk, then you're old enough to mind, now aren't you?"

The child nodded solemnly, and the Inspector offered her a smile. "Smart lass, you are. Now let's get you back to your mother." He carried the little girl back to her mother, who was nearly hysterical by then.

"Thank you so much." The woman hugged her daughter tightly. I noticed she had three more little ones with her. "It's hard to keep an eye on all of them at once, you know."

He didn't ask why she hadn't left the children home, and he didn't ask about the fact that the woman was not wearing a wedding ring. He simply nodded in agreement.

"Children were meant to be moving around." He commented easily. "Just means they're healthy." He peered down at the three children gathered around the woman's skirts. "I'll tell you what I told your sister. You're old enough to mind your mother, now. You listen to her, and help her out. Don't be given her a hard time when she works so hard to take care of you, hear?"

Three more wide eyed nods from the children, and another smile from the Inspector. "All right, then." He nodded to the mother. "Good day to you, Ma'am."

She smiled. "Good day to you, Inspectors. And thank you."

It was after the day's work was supposed to be over that things began to get interesting, for lack of a better word.

We were hailed by a rather tall, skinny fellow I'd seen around the Yard occasionally. This man was introduced to me as Sherlock Holmes.

I'd heard of Sherlock Holmes, of course. The man is a genius. Makes the best of the Yard look downright daft by comparison. I've heard that Inspector Lestrade and Inspector Gregson work with the man quite a bit.

Well, Inspector Lestrade introduced him to me like he would anyone else. "This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Mr. Holmes, Inspector Stanley Hopkins."

Mr. Holmes looked me over. "I assume this is why Gregson took over those cases this past week?" He inquired, and the Inspector nodded. Then he introduced me to Doctor Watson, though it seemed we'd met before, as he was the one that sewed up my arm.

"How's your arm, Inspector?" Doctor Watson inquired.

"It's healing well enough, thanks to you, Doctor." I replied.

Mr. Holmes seemed impatient with the conversation, so we quickly got down to business. Mr. Holmes, it turned out, was investigating the murder of a prostitute down on one of the worst streets in the city, and believed he had identified the murderer, which was where we came in.

I was not looking forward to this at all, but nobody asked me, and I was probably just being brought along to watch and hopefully learn something, so I didn't say anything, but swallowed and followed the others.

I knew that street.

Taking a cab to that part of the city would have been a bad idea, but I wasn't too keen on walking down the street in the growing dark, either. You stayed off this street at night.

It set me on edge, I'll admit. So did Inspector Lestrade's admonition, "Take it easy, Hopkins, you look like an easy target."

Target indeed. Nobody with any brains was out here after dark, for sure, and not in the street. You stuck to the shadows along the buildings if you had to be out, but you didn't walk down the middle of the street this late in the day. The hair on the back of my neck was standing straight up, telling me to get out of there.

A group of boys were late getting home, I refused to let myself guess from their appearance what they'd been up to and resisted the urge to tell them to get a move on and quit dawdling.

They'd noticed, of course, and started sizing us up. I wondered if the others in our group were aware of as much. Surely they had to have realized it.

The ringleader was meandering our way. "Spare a bit o' coin, sirs?" He called out as he approached, though he was wisely set to bolt at any second if need be.

Doctor Watson actually reached into his pocket, the kind hearted fool. He didn't see the little one circling around behind us.

I quickly flipped a coin at the leader. "Scat." I growled. "Dark's comin'." In the same motion I caught the little hand that was reaching for the startled Doctor's pocket.

He yelped, but the rest of the boys had scattered. I shook my head, though I wasn't the least surprised, and turned to glare at the one that was now struggling to get loose.

"Stop that." I told him, and he froze, staring up at me. Older brother, that one was, plain as day, and he was young himself. And half-starved. "How many?" I asked him. He scowled up at me, not understanding. "How many you got at home?"

Eyes widened. "Four, not countin' me." The boy replied quickly. I sighed, and reached in my pocket.

"Now git." I told him. He scampered off quick when I let him go. I ignored the looks I was getting from the others, and founding myself wishing we could be out of there.

We moved on, found a run down, sorry excuse for a house, and my stomach sank. I knew this place.

Mr. Holmes didn't bother to knock. He knew something of this place as well, then. A knock would only have caused more trouble than we were already headed for. Nobody knocked here.

The woman of the house met us, looking worried. I couldn't blame her. She knew something was up. She'd always had a good notion of when trouble was brewing.

Mr. Holmes promptly asked her where he could find the son of Hollie Taylor, and my heart about stopped then and there as I made the connection.

Hollie Taylor had been the prostitute that had been murdered. Apparently Mr. Holmes believed her son, Charlie, had been the one to do it. I had no more chance to think anything else before a very familiar young woman stepped forward to glare at Mr. Holmes.

"He ain't here." She told him boldly.

"Do you know where we might find him?" Doctor Watson asked reasonably.

"No." She lied. "I ain't seen him around for some time." She wasn't about to tell them anything, I realized.

"Where's your Ma?" I asked her quietly, cutting off whatever Inspector Lestrade had been about to say. "Where's she at, Clover?" She stared at me with wide eyes.

So did everyone else, for that matter.

Then she answered. "She's dead, Stanley. Somebody killed her."

"An' her sister went lookin' for somebody as could figure who, is that right, Mr. Holmes?" I asked. The other man nodded. Clover looked from him to me, afraid of what she might hear next.

"Charlie din't do it, Stanley." She protested. "They're lookin' for him, your Mr. Holmes says, but he wouldn't of done it."

I wasn't so sure. I'd grown up with Charlie. "Never set well with him, Clover, what your Ma did, you that, and Charlie was a hard 'un. He beat Johhny half to death over a bit o' coin, remember? And Johhny wasn't the only one he lost his temper with. How many times he hit you growing up?" I asked. "You don't think he would of done it?"

She glared at me. "He's upstairs, Stanley, but he din't do it. You'll see." But I could tell she didn't altogether believe it. She knew her brother, even better than I did.

I stayed downstairs with her while the other three went up to arrest him; when they brought him down cuffed and cursing his own mother she hadn't any other choice than to accept it as truth.

She glared at them and spat at him, and told me to go on and git, and she hoped I got my skull knocked in.

I didn't take it personal, Clover's always been like that when she was hurting, but at least she wasn't going all to pieces on us or trying to knife anyone.

I tried to ignore the inquiring looks from the others, and the insults from Charlie, as we headed back to the Yard.

"Whore's son." He hissed as they locked him up. I just looked at him for a second, then stepped in real close. He wasn't going to try anything. He knew if he threw the first punch I'd let him have it.

"That makes two of us then." I told him quietly. "And at least _I_ know who my father is." I stepped back before he decided to hit me anyway.

I was glad to finally get home, and glad for the peace and quiet. I was hoping writing about what happened would help get some of this out of my head, but tonight's been too vivid a reminder of what my own childhood was like. Maybe it wasn't as bad as some, but I didn't like to think on it all the same.

And I don't like that I'll probably have to explain it to Inspector Lestrade tomorrow, either.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.


	10. Chapter 10

**Day Eleven**

It wasn't as bad as I'd expected. I told him I'd known Clover and Charlie growing up, and that I'd actually lived with my mother and sister not far from them after my father had died, and left it at that. He didn't ask for anything more, thankfully.

So I didn't have to explain that I knew what it felt like to be hungry enough to resort to pick pocketing so my sister and I could have something to eat. And I didn't have to explain that Hollie and my mother had been close until my mother had died, a year after I left home. Nor did I have to admit that Charlie's insults towards my mother and myself were not entirely without some basis in reality. And I didn't have to shrug and tell a scandalized Inspector Lestrade that 'you do what you have to.'

Maybe it will eventually come out. Maybe it won't. I'll deal with it when and if it happens.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.


	11. Chapter 11

**Day Twelve**

Inspector Lestrade had me taking notes all day while he questioned a bunch of suspects regarding a murder. He looked over my notes when it was all done, and had nothing bad to say about them, except that I could stand to be a little quicker.

I asked how he thought I could manage that. Now he's teaching me shorthand. I think it's just an excuse to have someone translating his notes to make filling out reports easier, but I suppose someday the knowledge might come in useful.

After work, he dragged me off to some tavern or other. The last thing I imagined was that the other Inspectors would be there!

But Bradstreet greeted me cheerfully, and introduced me to Inspector Jones.

Jones looked me over. "Well, you're still alive, at any rate." He commented.

"He even survived Holmes the other night." Inspector Bradstreet put in, and I wondered how much he knew about what had gone on.

"Not to mention he's already made his first arrest." Inspector Jones elbowed Inspector Gregson, who was seated beside him, and I held my breath.

Inspector Gregson glared at Inspector Jones, and not me, and I started breathing again. _Then_ he turned to me.

"So you've almost finished your two weeks, what do you think?" He wanted to know.

I shrugged. I wasn't sure what to say, and Inspector Lestrade had warned me on more than one occasion not to annoy any of the other Inspectors.

"He's a quiet one." Inspector Jones commented. Inspector Lestrade snorted.

"Sure, until he opens his mouth and sticks his foot in it." He replied, and I felt myself turning red. There are some things that have not made it into even this private account.

At any rate, it seemed the Inspectors like to get together off duty for a drink on Friday nights. It also seemed I had been welcomed into the group, provided I decided to stick it out.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.


	12. Chapter 12

**Day Thirteen**

Today Inspectors Lestrade, Bradstreet, and I were called on to put a stop to a barroom brawl. As a result I now have a split lip, a number of bruises, several sore ribs, and a knot on my head. I am also sore all over.

Still, Inspector Bradstreet ended up getting his hand sliced open when he caught that broken bottle, and Inspector Lestrade has two black eyes and scratches on his face from some woman he was trying to help.

I'm going to hate myself, and the job, come morning I fear.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.


	13. Chapter 13

**Day Fourteen**

Training is over. I've been assigned my first case, and Inspector Bradstreet has been assigned to observe and advise me, should he feel I need it.

I _did_ hate myself in the morning. It was all I could do to drag myself out of bed, and I was not looking forward to a day of work.

Inspector Bradstreet didn't look too pleased to be there as he dragged in, either. Inspector Lestrade looks about as if someone forgot to tell him he was in a fight yesterday, though, in spite of his injuries.

He glared at Inspector Gregson when the man snidely asked if he was having problems with his wife after he saw the scratches. Inspector Lestrade then retorted that _his_ wife wasn't the type to make him sleep on the couch after getting injured on the job, and Inspector Gregson turned red and backed off.

My last day of training with Inspector Lestrade didn't really amount to much. Filling out reports on the brawl yesterday, practicing a bit more of Lestrade's shorthand, that was about it until the Superintendent sent for me and handed me my first case and said that Inspector Bradstreet would be assisting me.

I like Inspector Bradstreet, and couldn't really have asked for a more easygoing fellow to work with. He's friendly, too, and less intimidating than the others.

Still…my first case. I hope I'm up to it.

* * *

Disclaimer: Sherlock and the boys do not belong to me.


End file.
